I was having my third Moscow Mule when dude sat down next to me. Looked like a nice enough guy, sporting typical Pacific Northwest summer garb: Teva sandals with white tube socks, odd-colored shorts and a tee-shirt with Kurt Cobain on the front. He ordered a Mac ‘n’ Jack’s lager, a typical Seattle brew.

I sipped on my Mule and watched the TV hanging from the ceiling above the bar. Some sports channel was showing a re-run of Super Bowl XLVIII, when the mighty Seahawks demolished the Denver Broncos 43-8. It was one of those things you could never get enough of. I had watched it over 20 times since the victory four months ago.

The man got his beer and nodded at me. There were plenty of empty seats at the bar, but of course, he had to sit right next to me. We struck up a friendly conversation and it of course ended up with the question of employment.

“So, whaddya do?” dude asked me. My usual retort would be something like Well, I breathe a lot, but I figured that would not achieve the effect I was hoping for with this guy. So I told him the truth.

“I drive life-sized silicone dolls around the city for people to have sex with.” It was the truth and might get that effect I wanted: leave me alone.

“Oh yeah? No shit! How does that work?” he persisted.

“You see that Sprinter out there in the parking lot?” I motioned to my white van that sat right outside the bar window.

“Huh. The one that says Seattle Tanning Experience?”

“Well, yeah. I thought Silicone Fuck Doll Express would have drawn some unwanted attention,” I snorted.

“People have sex in there? In the van?”

“Yes, but... well, it is with an inanimate object, so you can’t really call it sex, per se. It is more like a rare, unique experience. It could be your sister, or your boss, or your nephew I suppose, if you are into that. Whatever you want it to be. Not a bad gig, really.”

“Wow!” the man said, looking straight ahead. “Never heard of such a thing. Who are your clients? Rich guys I bet!”

“Surprisingly, a lot of high school kids," I said.

“High school kids? Really?”

“Yeah, they consider it a kind of practice session before the real thing. You wouldn’t think it, but a lot of those kids are virgins. Some of them even tell their friends they aren’t after being with one of my dolls.”

“You have more than one?”

I took a sip and looked at the guy. “I have over a dozen, if you must know. Redheads, bald, fat, skinny, big boobs, big balls, white, Asian, black. I even have a midget. That was not cheap, let me tell you.”

The man looked down at his beer, which was empty. He set it on the bar top and motioned for another. I guess he is in it for the long haul. Sigh.

“Let me ask you,” he began. “How much does a midget doll cost?”

“For the good stuff, about ten grand. The others are around six or seven.”

“That’s the grey area, my friend.” I held my glass up and took a long draught. “My attorney is very good. There is no actual sex involved, I am not involved, no videotaping, nothing like that. The kids pay a few hundo to ‘sit’ in the van for an hour. What happens in there is not my problem.”

“Huh,” the man said. “Sounds messy, though.”

“There are ‘rules’ you could say. Condoms are required, sanitary wipes as well. Cleaner than one might suspect. A cash business. Mobility brings a premium as well.”

The man looked at me with that look I always get when I explain my trade fully. You fucking pervert, you fucking genius, why I am slaving away in an office and you drive fake women around for people to screw.

I finished my Mule and tossed a twenty on the bar.

“Nice chatting with you, man,” I said. I stood up and pushed my bar stool against the rail.

“Yeah, you too,” he paused. “Could I uh, you know, get your card?”

I reached into my vest pocket and took out a business card, gold lettering on a sheer black background. I handed it to the dude and smiled.